Always Roaming with a Hungry Heart
by SisterGrimmErin
Summary: "I am become a name, always roaming with a hungry heart. Much I have seen and known." The Greek gods, in the years after Rome and before Percy Jackson. What were they doing all those hundreds of years? T for implications. Zeus/Hera, Aphrodite/OC, Aphrodite/Hephaestus, Persephone/Hades. Two-shot. Credits to Rick Riordan and Lord Alfred Tennyson. T for implications.


**Always Roaming with a Hungry Heart**

 **By Sister Grimm Erin**

 **For Neko Kuroban**

 **A Percy Jackson and the Olympians Fanfiction**

 _I am become a name;_

 _For always roaming with a hungry heart_

 _Much have I seen and known; cities of men_

 _And manners, climates, councils, governments,_

 _Myself not least, but honour'd of them all;_

 _And drunk delight of battle with my peers,_

 _Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy._

 _I am a part of all that I have met;_

 _Yet all experience is an arch wherethro'_

 _Gleams that untravell'd world whose margin fades_

 _For ever and forever when I move._

 _From "Ulysses" by Lord Alfred Tennyson_

"My fair wife," Zeus said to her, a smile curving his lips. In that smile there is everything he has been—a young godling who promised to lay the world at her feet, a king who made her his queen, a man who was led astray time and time again, an enemy who changed her to the sky, and a husband who she loved with a ferocity that shocked her.

"My husband," Hera allowed. "We are become gods no longer, but icons and stories only." She sniffed. "We ought to favor these Romans with a taste of our wrath."

"Once we would have," Zeus replied, "and it is tempting. But the Fates have limited us in that matter, and…" He paused, hesitating.

Hera is puzzled. Zeus has never hesitated before, not even when he should have. It is one of the things she had always loved and loathed about him, his great and unwavering confidence.

"I do not think we need their worship," he said, finally. "We need the mortals to survive and thrive, as they need us, but we do not need to be known by all of them to survive. We never were known by all of them, after all."

"That is so," Hera agreed. "We only need them to weave their stories about us, and we will live on for all time."

"So," Zeus concluded, "we will do as Athena advised. We will let them have their one God, and we will live among them, mingling our lives with theirs."

"And our blood with theirs?" Hera said cuttingly.

Zeus bristled. "Why, do you not think I can change? I, a god who can do battle with all creation and win?"

"With respect, husband, all things are possible, but some are unlikely." Hera smiled, sadly. "Time will tell."

The two gods gazed down from the clouds at the top of Mt. Olympus and marveled at the dying empire below.

 **X**

After the last flame of the fire that was Rome flickered out, the Olympians set up camp in a green island the mortals call Erin, or Ireland. It is a beautiful place, admittedly, and traces of magic linger in the very soil. Artemis and her beloved Huntress Zoë Nightshade find a people called the Fair Folk to hunt with. Some of the old Irish gods still linger, worshipped by the mortals as saints, and make for interesting company—Brigid with her great mantle and her power over fire, and wintry Mab who claims rule over darkness.

But the minstrels, living on the edges of society, singing songs of heroes and villains and love and hate, find special favor with Aphrodite. Demeter loves the green earthiness of Ireland, but Aphrodite finds herself weeping from the ballads of these young, poor men.

"You are poor, and unlettered, but you warm the hearts of all," she says, smiling through her tears. This particular poor young singer looks at her luscious radiance and wonders if this particular sweetheart is too much woman for him. She is too beautiful, too strong and too perfect. Perhaps she is a witch or succubus.

"I find it a noble calling," Aphrodite continues, unaware of the young man's nerves. "I would keep you in my home and hearth here. You can partake of my bread and wine and have a place to cool your heels for a fortnight or two."

He is starving. The luckless singer agrees.

Two months later, Hephaestus finds Aphrodite keeping the minstrel as her devoted slave, his fingers played to the bone and his body tired from other types of play.

"You must take him back, wife," he said curtly. "By the time you tire of him, the poor boy will have no wits to reason with, no voice to speak with, and no fingers to play with."

"In a few more days," she said, smiling radiantly at her husband. "He's a dear little thing."

The light of civilization flickers, almost dies out, but finally, a spark catches and the fire is relit.

The Renaissance revitalizes them all.


End file.
